Shanndrae Woods 1

Dare to seek the breath of death,

Walk long under tree.

Follow dreams of mist and song,

Mingle with the dead.

.

If you can tread the narrow path,

Break the carven stone,

Happy shall you be.

But if you fail, then walk alone,

Among mists and broken promises,

Never to rest within the night.

~Amber Shanndrae

My eyes trace the golden letters. “What are you?” A passing ray of sunlight glints off the top.

Somewhere, a bird wails. The shrill sound shatters the pure morning air. I turn, hands pulling my cloak closer around me. My gaze goes to the woods. She’s out there. A shiver runs up my back. I yank my focus from the murky tree, turning my attention back to the rock.

The sun shimmers on the gold lettering, glittering up into my pale face. Mingle with the dead. I nod, biting my lip. The cold morning air slips through my hood and pricks my ears. I hold my ground, studying the stone the same way I do every morning. Even before I could read, I would go out here and look at the pretty letters. I know more now. I understand why they are not beautiful.

Tread the narrow path. No one can interpret the majority of what she wrote. Two hundred years have passed. Yet, we are no close to solving the riddle than we were before.

“Taking your morning stroll, Nightingale?” His cheerful voice cuts through the freezing silence.

I turn, smiling up at him from the shadow of my hood. “Hello, Peregrine. What are you doing out so early?”

A touch of laughter flickers through his blue eyes. His boot digs at the frosty ground, kicking it’s scuffed surface against a rock. “Nothing really. Just out walking.”

Rustles of wind breath on the icy ground. It tugs the edge of my cloak, pulling it open. “You out and about before the rest of the town? Right. Try again.”

He rolls his eyes at me. Rough hands yank the corners of his own cloak tight around him, trying to provide some shelter from the cold. “Fine. I was awake and staring out the window. You walked past. I was bored, I got up and followed you.”

I shrug, realizing that I don’t care either way. My eyes stray back to the stone. Dare to seek the breath of death.

He kneels down , crouching in the silver crusted grass. His hand sweeps over it. “Studying this again?”

I bite my lip, and slowly nod.

“Why?” His face turns towards me, morning sun glinting off his tanned skin. “Nobody else cares. I don’t think anyone has since the first generation. Why do you?”

My shoulders shrug beneath my black cloak. “No real reason. But there is an answer to it. The riddle, I mean. I like to think about it.”

“Dare to seek the breath of death.” His voice slips through the freezing air, rustling over the village square. Hand moves down a couple lines. “Mingle with the dead. Doesn’t sound very encouraging.”

“It sounds new.” The words hang there, wistful and sad. New. There is nothing new here. This little group of twenty-four houses is all I have ever seen. If I want to have a big adventure, I steal down to the fields where we grow our food. A little town, hushed in fear. And yet, nobody even knows why they fear.

“New isn’t always good, Nightingale.” He stands, brushing dirt from his hands onto his pants. His eyes go to my face, studying the sharp lines that make up my features. “Often it is dangerous.”

I look down. Maybe he is right. But new sounds enthralling. Seeing something no one else knows? Exciting beyond measure.

My gaze goes up, moving to the horizon. Dark shadow stares back at me. The light from the rising sun does not touch it, cannot penetrate the depths of the unknown. Long branches reach for the ground, continuing out of sight, and out of knowledge. That is her domain.

“You have the village worried, you know.”

I jump, snapping out of my trance. “What?”

His head cocks to the side. “I said you have the village worried. You are mesmerized by those trees, you’ve told me so before. You want something new. Documents show that was how Amber Shanndrae felt. Your mother was almost in tears at the thought of it.”

Turning my back to him, I bend my head towards the ground. The black hood falls over my face, shrouding my emotions in darkness. I don’t speak until my voice is steady. “My mother tends to exaggerate. She’ll have recovered by the time I get home.” I pause, thinking back. “This is last night we are talking about? I didn’t think you were allowed to be there.”

He coughs. “Well… about that… Please don’t mention I told you. I ate dinner at a friends house. Was on my way home and saw the lights at the meeting house. The window was open. I heard your name. Kept listening after that.”

“They are really worried about me leaving…” I murmur the words, tasting and savoring the sweetness they leave behind. “I won’t. Or I don’t think I will. I want to, it is a tempting thought. Life is dull here. I long for more.” Then even quieter, “I wonder why she still roams and sings in the night. The Gray Lady.”

“Amber Shanndrae made this place, Nightingale,” He reminds me, gently. A long step places him slightly in front of me. He bends his head downwards, looking into the protective shading of my cloak. “As a place of safety. She broke the rules, poor thing. Do you want to end up like her?”

My head give a little shake, throwing black curls out of the hood. They tumble across the front of the cloak, night falling on night. “I do not want to end up like her.” Reaching up, I pull the hood down.

Obsidian eyes stare at him from a white face, red lips smiling mockingly. Midnight curls complete the picture, spilling around me in a cascade of darkness. “But, look at me, Peregrine. Look at my face, at my eyes. How can it not be my fate? It is what I was made for.”

He winces, blue gaze watching me in pity. “I don’t believe that. You can be something else, if you really want to be. Your name is Nightingale. Shanndrae woods already has one, stay with us.”

I turn away, fighting against the hunger inside. This always happens. Always. The night brings out the worst in me, but the morning isn’t much better. The girl breaks through the crust, gaining the upper hand for a little while. Or until the next full moon. “For a little while, Peregrine. But I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. The woods are calling to me. She is calling. Wanting me to join her. The night will bring me to her someday.”

“Then don’t go out into it, Nightingale.” He smiles, trying to pull a little cheer into his expression. “If the night places you in danger, don’t expose yourself.”

“Peregrine…” I try and smile back. The corners of my mouth turn up, and then wilt. “I can’t stay in. I belong to the night. I might as well stop breathing. There isn’t a choice that can be made, it is made for me each time.”

Silence falls, shrouding the tiny town that sits at the center of this clearing. Somewhere in the distance a bird screams in terror.

My head swings towards the sound, mind locking down on that section of the woods. I wait for the bird to come. Nothing appears. “She is out in the daylight. Odd.”

“There was a full moon last night, she must still be out. Think on the bright side… at least she isn’t singing.” He crosses his arms, glaring hatred at the leaves that shield the ground from the sun. A tremor runs through his body. The dark mood disappears, a smile covering his face. Charm flashes out at me. “Want to come over for breakfast? We might be able to cheer you up.”

A grin flashes across my expression. Emotions retreat back where they belong, huddled in the dark, eating a hole in my soul. I can feel their acid burning away… but I can be cheerful. I can act happy enough to pass inspection.

Peregrine means well, I can see that much from his cocky grin. A kind expression fills his eyes, a wish to spare me pain. He looks like that at everyone, but most especially at me. I am in the most pain, normally. He goes where he thinks there is need.

“Thank you, Hawk,” I drag my pet name for him out of the dredges of my memory. Surprise touches his features, I haven’t called him that in ages, but then we haven’t talked in ages. “But I have to be getting back. My parents should be getting up soon. See you in the fields.”

Smiling one last time, I spin on my heel. A great light shines down me, shedding warmth on a dreary earth. I turn my face to the sun and throw back my hood.

Illumination falls across my features. Large eyes look up at the rising beauty… and shy away from the blaze that washes through the world. Something inside shrinks back, wishing for the protective darkness of the night. A shaft of pain slashes through my heart, and through the ivory features that turn towards the light. A hiss breaks free, joining the twittering of the birds in Shanndrae woods. My hand goes to my chest and presses. The other pulls the hood back over my face.

I’m different. But I can’t help that. And the Hawk accepts that, even if no one else does. Even if I don’t.

It is only a five minute walk back to my house. I take it as slowly as possible. No wish in my heart tells me to go on, no longing for the warm fire. The cold calls, the light repulses. The darkness from beneath the heavy branches beckons sweetly. It wants me come.

Houses move around me, red brick glistening with heavy frost. I hesitate by one, glancing at the glazed glass of their window. Something moves behind it, distorted by winter’s loving kiss. People are up. The day is about to start. And what a day it will be.

Shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my cloak, I hurry my steps along. Horrible day. Breakfast first, of course. Then we clean up after it and take care of the chores. When the sun is directly overhead, we feed the animals in the barn and whatever else needs to be done to them.

After that, all heads turn. To the field. To the sun overhead. And we work beneath it. Hoeing, weeding, watering, and in the fall, harvesting… Whatever needs to be done. Two or three hours spent daily under the hot sun. And everyone is scorched brown. Except for me. I stay white, belonging only to the darkness. Light holds no sway.

Tonight, it happens. This is Wednesday. Everyone assembles at the meeting hall. And the torture begins.

I mount the wooden step, wincing at the creak under foot. Angry words sail through the door, Mom’s and Dad’s voices already raised in argument. I grit my teeth, and bite back the curse that wants to break free. Every day, all day. Constantly. It never ends. Fight, fight, fight. I didn’t mind when I was younger; didn’t know enough to realize that this sort of behavior wasn’t normal. I’m older now. Old enough to know the truth. My parents don’t love each other. Maybe they never did.

Summoning courage, my fingers grasp the heavy knob. A hard thrust sends the door flying open.

Mom’s green eyes land on me, the heavy kitchen ladle pausing in it’s journey to Dad’s head. They both smile, anger and rage forgotten. Peace is restored. Home is once more home, and not a battleground. I step inside, letting the door swing shut behind me. “Good morning. Sorry for getting back late. I was talking. With Peregrine. He met me by the stone..”

Two smiles flash at me from two completely different faces. Dad smiles grimly, the hard expression softened slightly by a tinge of love. Mom’s entire face lights up from within.

“Talking with Peregrine, were you?” She gesture to the table with the ladle. “Sit down. I’ll get you some breakfast.”

I pull out my chair as directed, sinking down onto the hard wooden surface. Something inside me releases it’s tension, relaxing back. Some emotional muscles that were tight from walking in the dim light. Home might have problems, my parents might fight, but it is still the only “home” I will ever have.

Mom slides a bowl across the table. A spoon follows it. She sits down, propping her elbows on the rough wood. “So… Peregrine was talking with you?”

“Yes, he was out walking at the same time as me.” I shove a spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth, hoping against reason that it will be the end of it.

“He’s a nice young man,” Dad comments from across the table. His blue eyes slide merrily over the glare I send his way. “Did he ask you to the dance tonight? It is Wednesday, you know.”

Deliberately, I place my spoon back in my bowl. “No, he did not ask me. Nobody has asked me. He asked Lily, Joseph asked Marie, Louis asked Jeanne, and Charles asked Pauline. I don’t know about the rest of them, I think they have all got girls.” I meet both of their gazes. “Nobody in their right mind would ever ask me.”

Lifting my spoon, I stare at the gray flakes. “I’m different. Nobody wants me.”

“Sweetheart.” Mom reaches her hand across the table, covering my pale fingers with her rough palm. “There is someone out there meant for you. One of those boys you sneer at will marry you someday. You aren’t different, you are original. A special girl can’t expect the normal men to find her beautiful. She must wait a little longer than most, but she will be happy in the end.”

“I said different, and I meant different,” my voice rings through the kitchen calmly. A wave of nausea sweeps up through my throat, pushing the food I have already swallowed back up. I force it down. “I’m not original. There has been someone like me. One person.”

“Nightingale,” Dad starts.

I shove my chair back, jumping to my feet. “No, Dad. Don’t bother. I know what I am. I know who I am. There was a reason I was called Nightingale. You always knew I was different. And I know who the other person is. You don’t have to say her name, I already know it.”

Mom stands. Her hand stretches towards me, calming me, pleading for me to halt the storm that rages in my heart. “Nightingale, stop this. You are being wild. Stop and think.”

Dark eyes stare at her from a white face, red lips pressed tightly in rage. Rage at nothing, but at everything. “That is the problem. I cannot think! When the moon is high, I can do nothing. Only go where I am bid.”

“Nightingale!” His voice cuts through the room, snapping the cords of hate that hold my mind. My eyes dart to him. “Enough of that. If you want to talk, we will talk with you. If you want to shout, you can go down into the cellar and scream there. This isn’t a yelling match and it never will be. Understood?”

My gaze falls to the ground, studying the brown planks beneath my shoes. “Understood.” Apologize. Biting down my pride, I force myself to look up. “I’m sorry. I’ll do my best not to let it happen again.”

He holds my gaze for a moment. The disapproval in his eyes lightens. “Good.” A smile smooths the frown lines that mar his forehead. “Then sit back down. And we’ll talk.”

My gaze slips to the table. Despair slips through my guard, spreading its dark poison through my soul. I crumple under its attack. No withstanding the night. Not even in the daylight, still I can hear its call. “No, Dad. I-I… I need a moment to myself.”

His eyebrows contract. Displeasure tints the color, darkening his tanned skin.

Backtrack, find your way out. Say what you need to find a path that leads away from this mess. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I just need a moment. If I talk right now, I’m going to say something that I’ll regret later.”

“It is okay, Nightingale,” Mom’s musical voice breaks through the tension. It shatters beneath her gentle blow.

We both look up at her. Her pretty smile reaches for it. A small one creases my mouth. Dad’s blue eyes land on my snow white face, reading the slight relief. A grin curls his lips.

He is happy. Not because mom is happy, but because I am. No love lost between them. My brief moment of pleasure fades, reality setting in once more.

Spinning on my heel, I head for the door. Safe on the other side, I pause. What are they saying now?

“She is getting worse,” her sweet voice cuts through the wooden planks. “She can’t go on like this. We need to get her married. Or busy somehow. Something needs to change soon.”

“It will change, Sophie.”

My breath hisses through my teeth. Pressing my body closely against the wooden planks, I strain to catch every word. That isn’t dad. Not his normal way of speaking. He sounds dull, almost broken. Like he is carrying a heavy weight and it suddenly got too much, pushing him too the ground.

“You know what will happen, Sophie, love.”

I pull back, staring at the door. Sophie, love? He never calls her that.

“It won’t happen!” She fires back, slamming something against the table. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing about your own daughter! We can’t let go of her.”

“And we can’t tie her up,” his tired voice replies, worn to the bone by some unseen struggle. “It is going to happen. She will leave. You know that. We can’t keep her back. This is what she was born for. We knew that from almost the beginning.”

Silence falls, shrouding the room in its dark embrace. I bite my lip. Fear swirls in my heart, attacking me from within. Grabbing hold, I force it down. Not now. Wait. Until tonight.

He speaks. Quietly, almost too quietly to hear. But I catch them anyway, reaching out my mind to pluck them from the air. “And she is right. There is a reason we called her Nightingale. After Amber Shanndrae, the Nightingale of Shanndrae woods. ”

I jerk way, pulling back from what can only hurt me. Suspected… yes, I suspected, but I didn’t know for certain. Spinning on my heel, I make a break for the ladder to the loft.

His words, spoken as they were, they grab me from behind. Before I can fling them away, they sink beneath the skin. Their sharp talons plunge into my soul. And they promise, in sweet tones, to never leave me.

A chill runs up my spine. I pause in mid flight. She is watching you. My hand touches the ladder; I turn my head, glancing behind me.

Dark, almost black eyes watch me from beside the door, devouring my face with their intent stare. Long black hair flows to her perfect waist. And she watches me, interest evident in her gaze. No words come from between her red lips. They never come. She watches in silence, haunting me.

It could be a mirror, I could be looking at myself. Only older and farther way. Standing apart from the stream of time. She is in the room… but she is not of the room. A misty image in the steam. But the same red mouth smiles at me, same dark eyes. The same lean body.

Throwing myself against the ladder, I climb. She lets me go. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just studies. And calls to me.

Silent words clamor against my mind, jumbled together by the intensity of the call. I shove them away. My fear slides up, forming a shield between us. She can’t get through. I haven’t let her get through in years, not since I learned she could be blocked. But still… I can feel that she is only biding her time, waiting for the perfect chance. She could get through if she wanted to.

Pulling myself up the last rung, I scramble into the attic on my hands in knees. I roll on my side, glancing back down at the world below. Maybe she is gone. She has never followed me up here before, and sometimes she does just leave. Maybe…

She smiles softly, black eyes glittering in the dim light from the window at her right. Her hand goes out, reaching towards me. An invitation. An order, really. Come, Nightingale. You know who I am. Come.

My foot kicks outwards, striking the board holding the trapdoor open. It flies back, clattering against the oak boards beneath my prostrated body. The hatch slams shut. She’s gone.